


Session Tickets

by Subsequent



Series: Auth [3]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Betrayal, Tron: Uprising
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subsequent/pseuds/Subsequent
Summary: Kerberos 'verse oneshots, ficlets, and - ironically enough - AU's.[Index of works and summaries/ratings as per the first chapter]
Series: Auth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023135
Comments: 34
Kudos: 40





	1. [Index]

[ **# Overtime** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227/chapters/67707167/)

**Rating:** General Audiences  
**Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Category:** Gen  
**Wordcount:** 1,028  
**Characters:** Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley  
**Additional Tags:** livin' vicariously through this tired businessman, god i wish i had access to a makes-more-time machine

[ **# Return To Sender [MIRRORED FIC]** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227/chapters/68353615)

**Rating:** General Audiences  
**Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Category:** Gen  
**Wordcount:** 777  
**Characters:** Clu 2, Alan Bradley, Tron  
**Additional Tags:** Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, *slaps fic* this bad boy can fit so many John Mulaney references in it

Originally written for [quantum27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum27/pseuds/quantum27) in the comments of Kerberos (Chapter 9), then posted over to tumblr just 'cause. Now that I have a ficlet-collection fic, figured I'd copy it here too.

AU-ending: Alan sending shit into the Grid to troll Clu (/and keep the portal open while Tron gets Flynn out). UNEDITED other than a quick spelling check, and basically pure crack - don't take it too seriously!

[ **# Target Practice** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227/chapters/69082644)

**Rating:** General Audiences  
**Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Category:** Gen  
**Wordcount:** 975  
**Characters:** Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley, Tron  
**Additional Tags:** can be read as a continuation of Overtime, or as a standalone, either or, who am i to tell you what to do

[ **# Taking The Fall** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227/chapters/69780279)

**Rating:** General Audiences  
**Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Category:** Gen  
**Wordcount:** 569  
**Characters:** Beck, Sam Flynn  
**Additional Tags:** Sam is twelve here, and has the decision making skills to match, Beck is _not_ twelve but lacks the user-world context for why “taking a child BASE jumping is a bad idea”, ...which Sam may have happily exploited, brothers enabling each other, or rather, little bro getting big bro into Trouble, with precisely zero regrets

[ **# Paradigm Shift** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227/chapters/72747978)

**Rating:** Teen And Up Audiences  
**Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Category:** Multi  
**Relationship:** Lora Baines-Bradley/Alan Bradley/Kevin Flynn  
**Wordcount:** 2,179  
**Characters:** Lora Baines-Bradley, Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley  
**Additional Tags:** slice of life, starring: the formation of the ENCOM trio, i tried

[ **# Paradigm Shift [OFFCUT]** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668227/chapters/72749472)

**Rating:** General Audiences  
**Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Category:** Gen  
**Wordcount:** 439  
**Characters:** Lora Baines-Bradley, Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley  
**Additional Tags:** the alternate (and cut) beginning to Paradigm Shift, ultimately the question it sets up is really meant for another fic, plus the tone is a bit different, so, binned, but i like one (1) joke in this so i'm posting it anyway


	2. # Overtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** General Audiences  
>  **Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  **Category:** Gen  
>  **Wordcount:** 1,028  
>  **Characters:** Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley  
>  **Additional Tags:** livin' vicariously through this tired businessman, god i wish i had access to a makes-more-time machine

"Alan, my man, what are you _doing?_ " 

The question, tinged with humour, was nevertheless incredulous. Alan glanced up and gave a long, slow, pointed look between the figure leaning easily against the doorframe, and the desk that he himself was stationed at, files in neat stacks marking his progress. 

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing, Flynn?" he asked, deceptively mild. 

"It looks," said Flynn, still with an undercurrent of laughter, "like you're using the technological marvel of the century, the thing that will change everything, the _miracle_ of the Grid… to catch up on paperwork, is what it _looks_ like you're doing." 

"Then you've answered your own question," said Alan, and turned back to his work. 

Not that he was able to keep at it for long. Two seconds later and he could hear Flynn make his way over, a hand on his back shortly followed by Flynn leaning into his personal space, head angled to try and read the report he'd been in the process of reviewing. 

Alan closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in followed by a deep breath out, before re-opening them and turning his head. His nose met Flynn's ear. 

"Flynn," he said levelly. 

"Alan," countered Flynn with a shit-eating grin, though it faded a bit when he pulled back a bit and actually met Alan's tired gaze. 

"You doin' okay?" he asked seriously. "I know you're a workaholic and all, but you usually confine it to your _own_ office, not spread it out in here. Tron's worried." 

"Tron -" started Alan, and then cut off. "He texted you," he said instead, realisation dawning, his lips twitching into fond resignation. 

"He did," said Flynn. "He didn't rat you out or anything, but he mentioned enough that I figured I'd come and find you. Turns out he's as much the master of understatement as _you_ are. How long have you been _in_ here, man?" 

"Four milicycles," said Alan easily. He wasn't lying. 

"Mm-hmm," said Flynn, not buying it. "And before that?" 

"...Eight," said Alan. 

"And before _that?_ " 

"Is there a point to this?" asked Alan, dropping his pen fully and sitting back in his chair. He went to reach for his glasses, remembered last minute he wasn't wearing them, and settled instead on crossing his arms sternly. 

Flynn leant his butt against the desk and crossed his _own_ arms, staring down at Alan with a raised eyebrow and an undercurrent of genuine concern. 

"Does there _have_ to be a point to a check-in?" he asked, with a half grin. 

"There usually is," said Alan, patiently. 

Flynn's arms uncrossed and he lifted his hands in a mock surrender, before slapping them down to his thighs with a sigh.

"You caught me," he said. "I _had_ been looking for you earlier, had some questions for you with regards to our ENCOM plans. Though from the looks of it," and he threw a thumb towards the stacks of paper, "I'm not the only one. Don't you have an assistant for this?" 

"They're on leave," said Alan tiredly, giving up on his defensiveness, uncrossing his own arms to rub at the bridge of his nose. "Family emergency. I'm not sure when they're returning, they had to catch a flight to New Zealand." 

"And you couldn't have wrangled an intern into helping you out or something? We have a company _filled_ with people, Alan, you _can_ lean on them sometimes." 

"No," said Alan quietly. "I can't. Not if I want this done properly." 

Flynn opened his mouth at that but Alan cut in, still quiet. 

"The company _changed_ , Flynn," he said. "In your absence. We don't have the people we used to, _or_ the same relationships with the people who _are_ there. I've already put some things in place to hopefully change that, but in the meantime -" 

He broke off, and gestured to the desk. "Fixing this stuff doesn't happen overnight, you know," he said, seriously, before a somewhat mischievous smile crept up over his face. " _Unless_ it turns out that there's a magic laser that can turn _one_ night into _many, many more_. _Talk_ about business productivity tools..." 

Flynn's face had slowly dropped while Alan was speaking, and his lips were twisted into something of a complicated expression as he stared down at his feet. 

He was uncharacteristically silent for so long that Alan shifted to actual concern. 

"Flynn?" he asked, querying. Flynn seemed to shake himself out of it, and his usual grin returned, easily masking whatever had been there before. 

"You're right," said Flynn, bluntly, before his grin spread wider. "But even so - I do believe there's a _quote_ or two about 'all work and no play' that’s relevant here." 

"Is it, all work and no play means things get _done_?" asked Alan dryly as Flynn rocked to his feet and reached down to grasp Alan's arm in the same motion, pulling until Alan gave up and rose from his position, resigned. 

"Things can get done at _any_ time," said Flynn dismissively, waving a hand. "Like you said, we have a magic laser. You'll have _plenty_ of time to finish your work… _after_ you take a break." 

"A break, huh," said Alan. He stretched, and used the second it granted him to consider the idea. It _had_ been a long night… well, _nights,_ plural, on the Grid - and, well, he already knew that when Flynn was on a mission it was nigh impossible to dissuade him. His productivity, such as it was, had been a lost cause the moment that Flynn made up his mind. 

"Alright," he said, conceding, and Flynn's grin was _blinding._ "What did you have in mind?" 

"Well," said Flynn, his humour just barely bubbling under the surface as he tugged Alan out the door, "I think it's high time that you learn how to properly fling that disc of yours, wouldn't you say? _Tron?_ " 

And Alan's huff of exasperation at that seemed to finally break what counted as Flynn's composure, his laughter ringing out high and true and clear across the Grid.

He’d missed that noise. 

_Work can wait,_ thought Alan, and he let himself be chivvied along to brighter things. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. Listen. I need you to understand _how incredible_ the laser would be, _just_ for turning 10 of our-world minutes into 8 hours of workable time. Not even anything else. Just that alone. Emergency Services, Governments, Businesses, Intelligence Agencies - they'd pay _through_ _the nose_ to have access to something that could do that. Working a rapid response job / need to complete emergency planning ASAP (e.g. deciding on a strategic approach / resource allocation for an evolving fire front)? Boom, a stress filled nightmare turns into a leisurely _dream_ , all completed in a fraction of “real” time. 
> 
> Concerned about the Grid / all the people within it being monetized? You don't need to be. ENCOM could set up a completely empty system, hook it up to the laser, keep it in a secure location. Code the empty system with work spaces, some virtual whiteboards, and a break room. Charge access fees per session. ENCOM keeps control over the system and who can use it, and the income from that **alone** would keep the company in the black for _years_ \- more than enough time to work out what to do with everything _else_. 
> 
> Not to _mention_ what it could do to the transport industry if they work out how to send people / things via the Internet… or, yes, science, medicine, religion… 
> 
> *gestures frantically and wordlessly at the wasted opportunities, places head in hands*
> 
> (...this fic brought to you by VERY WISHFUL THINKING...)


	3. # Return To Sender [MIRRORED FIC]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** General Audiences  
>  **Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  **Category:** Gen  
>  **Wordcount:** 777  
>  **Characters:** Clu 2, Alan Bradley, Tron  
>  **Additional Tags:** Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, *slaps fic* this bad boy can fit so many John Mulaney references in it
> 
> Originally written for [quantum27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum27/pseuds/quantum27) in the comments of Kerberos (Chapter 9), then posted over to tumblr just 'cause. Now that I have a ficlet-collection fic, figured I'd copy it here too. FAIR WARNING: you've possibly read this before!
> 
> AU-ending: Alan sending shit into the Grid to troll Clu (/and keep the portal open while Tron gets Flynn out). UNEDITED other than a quick spelling check, and basically pure crack - don't take it too seriously!

Clu stared at the guards. They kept their heads up, arms stiff, no emotion in their stance.

“And you thought this was worthy of my attention,” he said, flatly. 

They, if anything, stood even straighter. 

“Sir,” said one, and if there was strain in their voice they hid it well. “It rezzed into the arcade. Sir. Is it not a User?”

Clu knew they weren’t joking, in their question.

Somehow, that was worse. 

“It is an _orange_ ,” he said, still flatly. “Do not show me anything like this again. Dismissed. Leave. _Now._ ” 

The guards could not have been said to flee, but they did, perhaps, leave the room a little quicker than regulation allowed.

Clu’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, even as he assessed the orange carefully placed on the desk in front of him. 

It sat there, unassumingly. He stared at it. It remained an orange. 

He picked it up and threw it against the wall with all the force at his disposal. 

It.... exploded, leaving smaller bits of itself strewn across the room, stuck to the ceiling, splattered to the floor. 

Even as he watched, one bit slowly slid down a pillar until it fell off with a wet _splorch_. 

“Clean this up,” he said to the soldier next to him, and he strode out the room with as much dignity as he could muster. 

\----------------------------------------------

“Sir,” said the guard, carefully holding out a - rectangle, with odd edges. A book, Clu realised, as he assessed it. A User information device. “It rezzed into the arcade. It - has your name on it.” 

Clu’s eyes narrowed again as he reached forward, roughly taking the book and examining the cover. 

_Downfall of the Roman Empire_ , read the title, helpfully, as a colourful square of paper seemingly attached to it underneath, read,

_Clu -_

_Learn, pal._

_\- Alan_.

Clu did _not_ throw the book across the room. He rifled through it, noting that some pages fell open easier than others - with odd, thin rectangles placed in particular places, enabling for quicker references. _Ruins of the Coliseum,_ read one rectangle, cheerfully. _The Death of Julius Caesar_ , read another. 

Quite a few sentences were helpfully underlined in _that_ chapter. One was even marked with an exclamation point.

Clu snapped the book shut one handed. The guards flinched, minutely, before standing to perfect attention again. 

“Do not,” said Clu carefully. “Bring me anything further from the arcade, unless it _speaks_. Are we clear?”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” said the guard. 

“Dismissed,” said Clu, and the guards fled. 

\----------------------------------------------

Clu’s eye twitched. 

“It speaks, Sir,” said the guard, almost defensively, as they held out a _larger_ rectangle.

They also, Clu noted, held it out as far as it was possible for them to do so, as if trying to physically distance themselves from the sheer _racket_ that the thing was producing. 

“So it does,” said Clu. 

There was a beat, where everyone just absorbed the sound. 

“ _\- ‘s new pussycat - wooOOOAAaaaaHHHHHhhhh -_ ” warbled the boombox, at volumes previously unknown on the Grid. 

Clu’s eye twitched yet again, as he strode forward and snatched it from the guard’s hand in one clean motion. 

It hit the ground the second after, but unlike the orange, it didn’t explode - instead it _bounced_ , landing again and sliding a little before coming to a stop against the guard’s foot. 

“- _wooOOOAAaaaaHHHHHhh-”_ the thing repeated, though a little more muffled this time. 

Clu stared out at nothing for a moment and grit his teeth together. 

“Take this and get it out of my sight,” said Clu. “Put it in the cells.” 

“Sir,” said the guards, and turned hastily to leave.

The sound followed them all the way down the corridor and beyond. 

\----------------------------------------------

“ _What,_ ” snarled Clu, as the doors slid open behind him. 

“C’mon now,” said a voice, cheerfully, and Clu whirled around. “Is that any way to greet someone? Didn’t you like my gifts?” 

Tron’s face, but not Tron’s circuits, the guards beside him holding him in a grip that Tron would have broken out of in an instant. 

“ _You,_ ” said Clu menacingly, and moved forward. 

_Tried_ to move forward. A hand, as if from nowhere, took his shoulder, and he found his disc - locked, his feet frozen, unable to move. 

“Me,” said Alan cheerfully. “Hi.” 

“What -” started Clu, and a voice behind him - the mirror of the one in front of him - said, 

“I rather think it’s more _who.”_

The guards beside Alan purged their red lights, dropping their grip and relaxing. Alan rolled his shoulders back, as if stretching, and said, cheerfully, as the room exploded into movement around them -

“You know, you really should be more careful about what you let in here.” 


	4. # Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** General Audiences  
>  **Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  **Category:** Gen  
>  **Wordcount:** 975  
>  **Characters:** Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley, Tron  
>  **Additional Tags:** can be read as a continuation of Overtime, or as a standalone, either or, who am i to tell you what to do

“It’s alllll in the wrist, man, just take it slowly.” 

The encouragement was undercut by the look of sheer unadulterated _delight_ that Flynn was wearing as he watched Alan struggle with the disc. 

“Flynn is… partially right,” said Tron, watching Alan with an assessing eye. “Correct posture is the first step in being able to fight.” 

“ _Partially_ right,” muttered Alan, already mentally cursing that he’d agreed to this in the first place. He knew his strengths, and physical activity was _not_ one of them - he kept himself healthy, but that was as far as he tended to bother. This - standing in the middle of an empty training arena, disc in hand - was so far out of his usual comfort zone that he was about two seconds away from abandoning the exercise entirely. 

But - it’d been a long time since he’d had a moment to just _hang out_ with Flynn, with neither the demands of the company nor Sam or Quorra between them. When Flynn had returned it had been nothing but a whirlwind, uprooting his steady life like a hurricane - with family, friends, the company, the press, the Grid, _everything_ \- 

Besides, Tron had looked - almost quietly pleased, at the idea of teaching Alan how to defend himself, and Alan hadn’t had the heart to tell him that if it hadn’t been for Flynn’s insistence he wouldn’t be here at all. 

“Go easy on him, Tron,” said Flynn happily. “We bruise easier than you guys do.” 

“ _Bruising_?” asked Alan, alarmed, “Now, hang on a second, I didn’t sign up to be thrown into the deep end with this -” 

“There’s nothing to be concerned about, Alan,” said Tron, shooting Flynn what, for him, counted as a dirty look. “I do not intend for you to come to harm this session.” 

“Why do I feel like that still leaves the window open for _other_ sessions?” asked Alan under his breath, as Tron came closer, carefully adjusting his stance until he stood back, satisfied. He didn't answer the question. 

“Now you, Flynn,” said Tron, gesturing him over, and Flynn’s face lost some of its mischief. 

“Oh, no,” he said, raising his hands as if to physically block the idea. “I’m good to stay over here. Spectate. Commentate. That kind of thing. _Gooo_ Alan!” 

It was followed by a mimed cheerleading display, the grin behind it taking on a somewhat desperate edge. 

Tron raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, no,” said Alan, a smile growing despite himself. “I insist. Please. Join me.” 

“I mean, I _would_ , but y'know, tonight’s really about _you_ , so -”

“Flynn,” said Alan, very mildly, still smiling. Flynn shut up at the tone. “I _insist_.” 

Flynn's hands dropped, defeat slumping his shoulders.

“You can be scary when you want to be, you know,” he muttered under his breath as he walked forward, joining Alan into the training space proper and nodding a head to Tron. “I know where _he_ gets it from.” 

The twin looks he received in response made Flynn’s lips twitch back up, and he straightened. 

“Alright!” he said, gesturing broadly, before reaching behind himself to remove his disc. “The Flynnster joins the game. Don't say I didn't warn you man, I've been playing these for a while now, so let's just say I'm… _experienced_."

"No game here," said Tron. "This is _training,_ Flynn. Not a competition. Unless you'd like to spar with me?" 

Flynn winced, though he was grinning. 

"I appreciate the offer, Tron, but we both know how _that'll_ end," he said. "As much as it _pains_ me to admit it. Not much of a game if you’re destined to lose from the outset."

"That's not a no," said Tron, almost smiling.

Flynn laughed. 

"Another time, maybe," he said. "In the meantime, let’s focus on getting Alan up to speed.” 

“I don’t know,” said Alan, now grinning himself. “I mean, I have to say, I haven’t seen one of these games _in action_ , yet, only heard about them secondhand. I rather think I need a demonstration, first, and - well, you and Tron are the only two here, so -” 

“Don’t _you_ start, Bradley,” warned Flynn, bringing up a finger to emphasise his point. “Haven’t you heard about learning by doing?”

“But Flynn,” said Alan, feigning innocence. “How better to learn than to first watch two… _experienced_...individuals, face each other? Surely I should watch the _masters_ of the craft before I attempt anything myself. After all, you’ve already been giving me such _useful_ advice tonight, I’m sure I’ll understand it even better seeing it all in _action_.” 

The _Look_ that Flynn shot him almost cracked his composure, but he maintained it long enough for Flynn’s gaze to slide away, cutting to Tron. 

“And what do _you_ think of this?” he asked him.

Tron kept his face entirely straight, as he said, “As Alan stated, it might be... beneficial for him to have some - practical exposure, to your advice, before further training occurs. ” 

Alan smothered his grin in response.

“ _Practical exposure_ , huh,” muttered Flynn, “Don’t even know why I asked.”

He paused for a second, before he sighed explosively, throwing his hands up.

“Okay,” he said, “Okay. I’ll _demonstrate_ for you with Tron, by which I mean I will get my ass kicked for your entertainment. But you better not back out on me Bradley, I’m expecting you to _learn_ a thing or two when I do. Be prepared to show off later, there _will_ be a quiz.” 

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll learn _something_ from your performance, certainly,” said Alan with a straight face. “Don’t worry. Someone once told me it’s _all in the wrist_ , so I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

Flynn’s look of disgruntlement at that cheered him right through, and as he settled in to watch the show, the only thought that crossed his mind was - _maybe I_ could _get used to this, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays y'all, please stay safe out there ♥


	5. # Taking The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** General Audiences  
>  **Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  **Category:** Gen  
>  **Wordcount:** 569  
>  **Characters:** Beck, Sam Flynn  
>  **Additional Tags:** Sam is twelve here, and has the decision making skills to match, Beck is _not_ twelve but lacks the user-world context for why “taking a child BASE jumping is a bad idea”, ...which Sam may have happily exploited, brothers enabling each other, or rather, little bro getting big bro into Trouble, with precisely zero regrets

“Are you _sure_ you're allowed to be doing this?” asked Beck, peering over the edge of the roof before stepping back and raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” said Sam, popping the p, ignoring Beck entirely in favour of messing with his wing chute. 

“Only I'm pretty sure Tron will kill me if I get a User injured. Actually, scratch that - _both_ Alan and Tron would kill me if you got hurt.”

“So I won't get hurt,” said Sam, in a tone that suggested he felt the entire line of thought was stupid, finishing whatever he was working on and closing the interface dismissively. “ _Duh_.”

“Alright,” said Beck dubiously, reaching for his _own_ chute and affixing it to his back. “But if anything goes wrong I'm letting them know whose idea this was.”

"Yours?" shot back Sam cheerfully, and Beck chucked a broken bit of data at him in lieu of a reply. Sam leant out of the way, easily, and it sailed past him, skittering across the roof until it slid off and over the edge entirely. 

“I’m just _saying_ ,” said Sam with a shit-eating grin.

“All _I_ said was that skydiving was something I _had_ done,” said Beck, leaning back against the access shaft and crossing his arms. “ _You_ were the one who suggested we jump off the tallest building in the city. And I _still_ don't know why I'm here enabling you - I mean, _last_ time one of your schemes went wrong, Tron had me doing drills for a full cycle to make up for it. Said I might actually learn some _discipline_ that way.”

“And don’t laugh,” he said to Sam, as Sam failed to look anywhere near chastened in response. “I’m _still_ sore from them. It’s a wonder I’m with you at all, to be honest.” 

There was a moment or two of amiable silence.

“Okay,” said Sam, after a few seconds of consideration. “You can blame me. If you say a User made you do it he'd _totally_ have to let you off the hook.”

Beck looked rather dubious again at that, and Sam rolled to his feet only to lightly punch him _one-two_ in the arm.

“‘Course,” he said, impishly, “that's only if he _finds out_ about it. Geeze. Lighten up, _dramapants_. Are you ready yet?”

“ _I_ am,” said Beck, with a sigh, before he reached for Sam's shoulder and spun him around, grabbing his wing chute from his hands as he did so and settling it in place, double and triple checking that it was secure. “ _You_ on the other hand need to tell me what we went through before we came up here.”

“Glide with your arms and legs out,” said Sam, pulling himself free from Beck's grasp as soon as he was done and turning around, wriggling his shoulders as if adjusting to the weight.

“And?” asked Beck patiently. 

“Land with your feet moving,” said Sam, mimicking Beck's voice with great exaggeration and rolling his eyes. “Can we go now?” 

“We can go,” said Beck, eyeing him up and down once more before shrugging, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder again and gently guiding him to the edge. 

“This is _so_ much cooler than video games,” said Sam quietly, as Beck transferred his grip to Sam’s hand instead, not budging as Sam tried to tug away.

“Just in case,” Beck told him, and then, “Three. Two-” 

“One,” said Sam, and _jumped._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere on the Grid, both Alan and Tron both get a feeling that these two are Up To Something and are like “😑”. 
> 
> Flynn would be happy to trust in Beck to keep things safe. He’s not _wrong_ , as such, but there’s a reason they’re not worried about yelling from _him_.
> 
> I was writing Encom Trio fluff and this just kind of... happened. Anyway. Also - I’m always happy to inflict my music taste on people, so here’s my [2020 Spotify Wrapped](https://open.spotify.com/user/spotify/playlist/37i9dQZF1EMcY7CSBaS6II), y’all.


	6. # Paradigm Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** Teen And Up Audiences  
>  **Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  **Category:** Multi  
>  **Relationship:** Lora Baines-Bradley/Alan Bradley/Kevin Flynn  
>  **Wordcount:** 2,179  
>  **Characters:** Lora Baines-Bradley, Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley  
>  **Additional Tags:** slice of life, starring: the formation of the ENCOM trio, @vince this is for you, i tried

“Clu could have taken a lesson from some of these people,” said Flynn as he collapsed into the sofa, covering his eyes with an arm. “I don’t know _how_ they managed to find us, but the paparazzi struck again. They caught me at the gas station. _Gas station_. Even _I_ didn't know I needed gas until about the minute before.” 

“I _told_ you to speak to the security guys,” said Alan as he scraped sliced vegetables from board to bowl, before laying his knife down to look up at Flynn fully. “Set Ritcher on them and they’d learn pretty quickly to leave you alone. We’ve been _through_ this, Flynn.” 

“And as _I_ said, if we act like we have something to hide, they _will_ dig deeper,” said Flynn, not bothering to lift his arm. “Nah. Better to just let them lose interest on their own. I’m sure _some_ celeb is in the middle of something scandalous, they’ll be chasing their next victim soon enough.” 

Lora ambled into the kitchen, drying her hair, dropping her hands only to lean in to Alan, press a kiss to his lips. 

"Smells good," she said, flicking him with the towel. "Is this the one you said you were going to try -" 

"From the Food Network? Yeah. Wanted to attempt something special. I know it's not the _exact_ anniversary, but close enough."

“Too bad double trouble are gonna miss it,” she mused, wandering over to the stove and lifting a lid, wafting the steam away as she peered into the pot. “Well, maybe not, knowing how much Sam likes his vegetables. What’d Lyn and Mac say?” 

“They’re set,” said Flynn, still laid out on the couch. “Quorra knows what it’s like to go to ground, even if she never _listened_ much. They’re happy to holiday for a few days.” 

“They’ll be back in no time,” said Alan, attempting to be reassuring. “And there is a silver lining to these - _parasites_ hovering around -" 

Flynn snorted. 

"- we can finally take the opportunity for a quiet night in. Just the three of us. It’s been a while since we've had the chance.” 

“Speaking of - have either of you heard from Roy?” asked Lora, lifting a spoon to her mouth, sneaking a taste. 

“His latest postcard is on the fridge,” said Alan, watching her. “If you can decipher his handwriting.” 

“ _Alan_ ,” warned Lora, but she laughed. 

“There’s a reason that man usually sticks to a keyboard,” said Alan, grinning, and Flynn pushed himself up to call out, teasing,

“ _Ouch_. Y’know, I think I have a _new_ plan on how to deal with the paps, Bradley,” 

“Get Roy to distract them with some _Flynn Lives_ stunts?” asked Lora, smiling. “I’m sure he could rally up a crowd, for old time’s sake.” 

“I - that’s not a half-bad idea, actually,” said Flynn, derailed, before he shook his head. “Nah. I was going to say I’ll just sic _Alan_ on them. Forget the security team, he could just stand there and grump at 'em. He’d scare them away in _no_ time.” 

“Thanks, Flynn,” said Alan dryly as Lora laughed again. “Love you too.” 

They ended up in the garden, in the semi-enclosed space that Lora had commissioned when they’d bought the house. Vines climbed the lattices, the roof opened to highlight the setting sky, reds and golds and pinks painting the horizon.

Flynn pushed his fork and knife back and then sprawled in his chair, settling his arms over his chest and staring upwards.

“Now _that_ was a meal,” he said, happily, and wiggled a little, getting comfortable. “Full compliments to the chef. You’re wasted in software, Bradley, we need to move you to the catering team.” 

“I guess in a way cooking _is_ like programming,” said Alan, thoughtfully, and Flynn threw out a lazy arm to finger gun at him, still watching the sky. 

“See?” he said. “You get it. _Recipes_ , man.” 

“... Build up a pantry of common items, pull them out when you need to put something together…” 

“...Everything on fire when it goes wrong…” continued Flynn, waving a hand about, before dropping his gaze with a grin. “Quality teams would have more fun in this analogy, though, _that’s_ for sure.” 

“Speaking of, weren’t we going to _quality assure_ some dessert?” asked Lora cheerfully, her own plate _long_ cleared and now nursing a glass of wine. 

“Good point!” said Flynn, sitting up a little. “Gotta taste-test that bad boy, make _sure_ it’s fit for human consumption.”

“It’s backlogged,” joked Alan, smiling. “Let me clear this mess and I’ll fetch it from the fridge.”

He rose, only for Flynn to pull himself upright too, starting to reach for the plates. Their hands collided, and Alan shooed at him gently. 

“Sit,” he ordered. “I’ve got it sorted. You can keep Lora company in the meantime.”

Flynn had suddenly stilled, staring at where their hands were overlapped, before he shook himself, cleared his throat, started to move again.

“Uh, sure,” he said, before taking a step back and collapsing into his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Sure, man. You got it. Keep Lora company. Can- _do_.” 

Alan glanced towards Lora at that, brows drawing together, puzzled. She sipped at her wine, eyes twinkling, and finding no help from her as to clarify whatever _that_ was all about, he shrugged it off and started to collect the cutlery.

It was dark - only the string lights wound throughout the woodwork providing illumination. They could have turned on the _actual_ outdoor lights but none of them seemed particularly inclined to care - their relaxed postures reflected in the wine bottle and few empty beers on the table.

“ - and then his _face_ -” said Flynn, dissolving into laughter, gesturing, barely managing to stutter out - “When I - his _face_ -” 

Lora was laughing as well, uninhibited, and she supplied - “Well, you _had_ just appeared from nowhere. _Good_. That slimeball _deserved_ the shock you gave him.” 

“I am the Ghost of Technology Present,” said Flynn, catching his breath, taking a sip of his beer, the occasional chuckle still breaking through. “And I arose to show him how much he _sucked_.” 

Alan snorted at that, and said “The Ghost of Technology _Future,_ surely? All things considered.” 

“Whatever works,” said Flynn, airily. “Either way, we don’t have to worry about _him_ again.” 

“Thanks to you,” said Alan, considering, before he leant forward and raised his beer in a toast.

“To Flynn,” he said, easily. “To your return. And for showing us all the _impossible_.” 

“Amen to that,” said Lora, and rose her glass too. “To the _greatest_ scientific breakthroughs of the _century_.” 

There was a half second delay before Flynn raised his beer to meet theirs, his expression suddenly gone wistful as he clinked his bottle, pulled back.

“To the both of you,” he said, quietly. “Wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” 

_Something_ in Flynn’s voice made Alan flush a little in response, knocking him off-balance. 

“Well, likewise,” he said, trying to downplay it, glad the low light hid the colour rising in his cheeks. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” said Flynn pensively. “And - maybe - we -” 

He stopped himself, pursing his lips together, before he swigged at his beer again, dropping it down only to roll it between his hands, silent.

“Nah,” he said, not meeting their eyes. “Nevermind.” 

Alan cast another bewildered look towards Lora, who was eyeing them both with a fond expression.

“Oh, _honestly_ ,” she said. “ _Boys._ ”

Flynn’s gaze snapped to hers, sharpening, and she smiled at him serenely. 

“The one thing you are not, Flynn, is subtle,” she told him. “For the record, _I_ think it’s a good idea.” 

Alan watched this exchange, tried to parse what they were talking about.

“Am I... missing something?” he asked, wrongfooted. “Lora?” 

She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it lightly, but her eyes were fixed on Flynn as she said, mischievously, “Well... it wasn't subtle to _me_ , at least. _This_ one might need some help.” 

Flynn’s gaze transferred from Lora, to Alan, and back again. 

“He -”

“Will probably say yes,” she told him. 

“Really?” asked Flynn skeptically, and Lora rolled her eyes.

“Ask him yourself,” she said, before squeezing Alan’s hand again and letting go, gesturing as if to say _go on._

“...I’m blaming _you_ if he doesn’t take it well. Just for the record,” warned Flynn, and Lora shrugged her shoulders, unfazed. “Mmph. Well. Here goes nothing…”

“I _am_ right here, y’know -” Alan started, irked, before Flynn reached forward all at once and breached the gap between them.

His hand was warm against the night, larger than Lora’s but somehow just as familiar, and it covered his - gently turning it over, threading their fingers together and holding on. His thumb rubbed up and down, as if to make its intention clear, charting their connection, before it stilled.

“Well?” asked Flynn, his expression wary and hopeful and so unlike his usual confidence that it hardly seemed to fit his face. “What do you say?”

Alan just stared at him, frozen, and he felt Flynn tense a little. Lora caught his eye and smiled.

“Only if you’re willing,” said Lora gently. “But - _honestly_ \- it’s not like much would _change_. Other than a few… key… things.” 

“I -” started Alan, floundering a little. “You can’t possibly be asking what I think you’re both asking.” 

“You said it yourself,” said Flynn, something still a little brittle around the edges, as if bracing himself for impact. “We make a good team. The three of us. Together.” 

“Jordan -” said Alan, still flustered.

“Would want me to be happy,” cut in Flynn, quietly. “And… it's time.”

Alan looked, properly looked, at their entangled hands - something in his gut swooping low, as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, the vertigo rising to meet him. He pulled himself away from the sight only to glance over at Lora again, grounding himself against her familiar smile, and he must have looked more lost than he wanted to, as her face softened, and she said -

“ _Someone_ needs to keep him out of trouble. And we already discussed it, once, remember back in -” 

“Yes, yes,” said Alan, quickly, cutting her off before she could continue. “No need to rehash _that_ conversation, thank you.”

Flynn's lips quirked up at that, some of his usual humour returning, and he said, tongue in cheek, “So have you _always_ wanted a piece of me, or -”

“Don't stop this before it's started, Flynn,” said Alan, shortly. “We've managed _this_ far without a third, so -”

“ - Is that a _yes_?”

"...Yes," said Alan, and before he'd even finished the word, Flynn had released his grip only to reach for his face instead, carefully running a thumb down the side of his cheek, and the world stuttered to a standstill as Alan suddenly lost the ability to breathe.

Lora laughed a little.

“Told you,” she said to Flynn, with a cheshire grin. Alan shot her a flat look.

“Thanks for the heads up, Lor,” he said, and she shrugged again, just as unconcerned as before. 

Flynn finished the last of his beer before rising to his feet, surprisingly graceful. He took a step forward, reached his hands out to Lora and Alan both.

“Up,” he told them, Lora swilling her wine down before accepting the offer, and he pulled them both to their feet, and then in close, limbs colliding.

He laughed, setting Lora off, and Alan joined in after a moment, almost giddy, all three of them leaning into each other, and then Flynn framed Lora’s face in his hands and was bending down to kiss her. 

“Beautiful,” he told her, as he pulled back, and Lora swatted him.

“Don’t lay on the charm _now,_ Flynn,” she told him. “We already know what you’re like.” 

“Hey, _you_ were the ones who said yes,” he said, grinning, before he turned towards Alan.

His hands came up, and he leant in, and for a moment Alan was young again, awkward and fumbling, and then all of a sudden it was as natural as breathing, like they had always fit together like this, as if he had always known the planes of Flynn’s mouth as well as his own.

They broke apart, and Flynn rested his forehead against his for a moment before straightening, eyes gone liquid dark, and they all looked at each other.

“What, no ‘ _beautiful’_ for me?” asked Alan, trying to inject some levity, regain his composure, and Flynn barked another laugh. 

“Never expected to hear _you_ fishing for compliments, man,” he said, unrepentant. “Nah. I was just thinking.” 

“About?” asked Lora, wrapping her arms around the both of them, joining them together.

“You’re right,” he told her.

“Well, obviously,” she agreed, cheerful. “About?” 

“The kids love you. You’ve already met the parents. We practically live at each other’s houses as-is. Not much _changes_.” 

“Might cause a scandal at the company, though,” said Alan, thoughtfully. 

“Let ‘em talk,” said Flynn, wide and ferocious. “If there’s _any_ news in my life that deserves to be splashed across a front page, it’s this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ ♥ ](https://youtu.be/us6HYdU1He4) & [ ♥ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W92z8e1GdKI) & [ ♥ ](https://youtu.be/Zy4KtD98S2c?t=2300)


	7. # Paradigm Shift [OFFCUT]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Rating:** Gen  
>  **Archive Warning:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  **Category:** Gen  
>  **Wordcount:** 439  
>  **Characters:** Lora Baines-Bradley, Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley  
>  **Additional Tags:** the alternate (and cut) beginning to Paradigm Shift, ultimately the question it sets up is really meant for another fic, plus the tone is a bit different, so, binned, but i like one (1) joke in this so i'm posting it anyway  
> 

It was the headline that did it. Just one out of many, the words barely visible from where the newspaper was laying haphazardly on the table next to them, discarded after the morning rush. 

Alan leant over and snagged it with two fingers, pulling it over and smoothing it down in front of him, Lora rescuing her coffee before it wobbled over the edge. As one, they all leant in together, Flynn tugging his sunglasses down to get a slightly better view. 

_`The Flynn Files: how one visionary tells us to look forward, not back. See inside for a feature on his plans for the future, as, on the anniversary of his return, the world still debates the details of his mysterious disappearance.`_

“Mmph. Nice to see that _someone_ remembered the date, at least,” said Flynn, sitting back again and sliding his glasses up as Alan flicked through the pages, skimming the text. 

Lora pushed at his arm, grinning. “That’s because we know the _correct_ one,” she told him, keeping her voice low. “Not the one we ended up announcing. _You_ try keeping it all straight in your head, mister.” 

“Nothing in my head stays straight,” said Flynn, grinning, and Alan glanced up at him only to roll his eyes.

“What,” Flynn said in response, as if daring him to comment, his grin growing wider. 

“Nothing,” said Alan, and then turned the paper around, pointing to a sentence. “We might need to get the relations team across this article, though. I’m not sure where they’ve got their information, but there’s quite a bit of speculation about your personal life in here.” 

“They’ve always done that, Bradley,” said Flynn, waving a hand dismissively. “The tabloids get an idea in their heads and then they reprint it to death 'til they move on to the _next_ shiny thing. ‘S never bothered me before.” 

“They mention Quorra,” said Alan, concerned, and Flynn suddenly unslouched, serious, leaning forward to read the paragraph, his eyes flicking rapid-fire until he caught up.

“... _long-lost family..._ ” he muttered out loud. “ _…_ wait, they think that she’s from an _Amish_ community? Oh man...” 

“Better question is why they think anything about her _at all_ ,” said Alan, uneasy, fretting at the edge of the paper.

“It’s not like we’ve kept her _hidden_ , boys,” said Lora, reasonably. “And they sure were mighty interested in Sam when Flynn vanished. The anniversary is probably stirring things up again, we’ll just have to lay low and wait it out.”

“Good thing I have some experience with that, huh,” said Flynn, his tone flippant even as his shoulders tensed. “Should be a piece of _cake_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
